A Study In Valentine's Day
by Hope-Hazard
Summary: Love is in the air at Baker Street, and though Sherlock's not one for emotions, he's willing to do anything to make this day special for John... even if it means asking Molly to help him cook a dinner. Only things never seem to go quite as he plans...
1. Chapter 1

John walked down to the living room, and was met with an odd sight. Sherlock, sitting exactly where he had been last night, only fully dressed, and reading a newspaper. "Oh," he said in surprise. Sherlock looked up at him. "I guess it's good that you're up; I won't have to leave a note. Sarah called and said that she needs me to fill in for a little bit. Not all day, though. I should be off by one." John didn't notice, but Sherlock resisted a smile.

"Okay then." He headed towards the door, but stopped when Sherlock continued speaking. "Oh, John, before you go... How are things with Sarah?" He looked at Sherlock suspiciously.

"Fine, I suppose. We've finally gotten past the awkward glances and short conversations, if that's what you mean." Sherlock nodded.

"Were you thinking about doing anything for her? For Valentine's Day, I mean."

John's brow furrowed further. "No, of course not. Sherlock, are you feeling okay? It's not like you to be up this early, and now you're asking weird questions—"

Sherlock shook his head. "I assure you, I'm fine. But go on to the hospital, and… have fun, I suppose?" Sherlock smiled innocently and stayed like that until John, who was staring at him curiously, finally sighed and muttered, "I don't even want to know," and left with a wave.

After waiting until he was certain John was gone, Sherlock threw his paper over his shoulder, and pulled out his cell phone, rapidly scrolling down his contacts to the 'M's.

Meanwhile, at St. Bartholomew Hospital, Molly Hooper was writing down notes about a new body that had just arrived in the morgue when her phone rang. She was confused at first, because she doesn't exactly have many people that would call her during work, and she was even more confused when she looked at the caller ID and saw that it was none other than Sherlock Holmes.

For a second, she just stared at it. Then she realized that he probably needs something important, because he barely even _speaks_ to her unless he needs something, and so if he's _calling_ it's most definitely something big, and oh goodness, _he was really calling her._

With a deep breath, she flipped open her phone and tried to sound normal. "Hello, Molly Hooper."

"Ah, Molly! So glad you answered. I have a question for you," Sherlock said on the other line cheerfully.

Her smile grew wider. "Y-yes?"

"Would you like to come over to my flat and have lunch with me? There are some things I wish to talk to you about." Molly's breath caught in her throat.

"L-lunch? With you? At your f-flat? Um, will John be there?"

"No, I'm afraid he had to go to the hospital."

"Oh my goodness! Is he okay?" Molly gasped.

She heard Sherlock sigh. "Yes, yes, everything's fine, he had to go in to work. Will you come over or not?"

Molly looked at her watch. 7:30 AM. "I don't usually take off for lunch until about 1. Should I come—"

"No, I need you over here now."

Now she was confused. "Well, it's rather early for lunch, don't you think?"

His light and friendly voice left, replaced with the one Molly knew better—impatient and demanding. "I was hoping to sound polite, but I obviously need to be more frank with you—I have no interest in eating lunch, I was simply using that as an excuse to get you to my flat. I need your help, and it's can't wait until one. Come quickly." He hung up, and she was left with the crushed feeling she often gets after talking to him. She knew he didn't do it on purpose; it was just how he is. That's what she told herself, anyways, as she put her phone back in her pocket and prepared her things to go.

A little while later, and Molly is walking into Sherlock's flat. He gestures to the couch, and then sits in the chair opposite of her, gazing at her and clasping his hands in his lap. He just stares for a minute until she clears her throat awkwardly. "You said you had a question for me?"

"Yes," he said, suddenly jumping up. "I need your help."

"With?"

"Making dinner." Molly's eyes widened in surprise.

"You called me over here… so that I could help you make dinner?"

"Yes," he nodded. "But not just any dinner. A special dinner. For John. Tonight." Now her mouth fell open, completing her look of shock.

"You mean you and John are—"

"No," Sherlock said quickly. "Not yet, anyways. However, that's what I hope to change with this evening." He cleared his throat and Molly could only describe him as being embarrassed, an emotion she had most certainly never seen on him before.

Obviously, he was very serious about this. And that's what led Molly to stand up with a disappointed smile and say, "Okay then. What did you have in mind?" Sherlock grinned at her for a second, but got serious again.

"That's where I require your assistance. You see, I'm not exactly skilled when it comes to romance. Needless to say, I don't have much experience in that area," he said almost reluctantly. Molly didn't have to be as smart as him to figure that one out.

"I see…" She looked around the living room, then walked into the kitchen and frowned at the mess. "Well, first things first—we have to clean up. There's no way we'll be able to prepare anything with all this lying around." Sherlock opened his mouth to give a retort, but then thought better of it. Instead he simply sighed, and nodded his head.

"Dear God, there's still more?" Sherlock said unbelievingly.

"Yes," Molly responded, exasperated. "How often do you clean up?"

Sherlock was looking at his watch, barely paying attention to her. "I don't. John usually does it—Molly, it's already past one, John should be leaving the hospital any moment—"

_RING_. Right on cue, Sherlock's phone began to buzz. He gave a pointed look to Molly before answering. "Sherlock."

"Yeah, it's me," John voice rang out on the other end. "I ended up leaving a bit late, but I'm on my way home now. I know you probably won't eat anything, but I was going to pick up Chinese on my way back. Anything specific you want?"

Sherlock scrambled to find a quick answer. "Actually, John, Mycroft called just a second ago. He says that there's some new case he'd like me to look at. He's too busy to come bring it to me, though. Could you go pick it up?" He heard John's tired sigh.

"Yes, I guess I can, since I'm already out. Is he at his office?"

"No," Sherlock said immediately. He gave John a phony address, one that was all the way on the other side of London. He thought it best to actually keep John _within_ the city, and though John was understanding, he probably wouldn't be willing to go too far for a simple errand like this.

"But that's way on the other side—"

Sherlock interrupted. "I know, I know. I'll pay you back the cab fare. I'm rather caught up in something at the moment, so I have to go." He hung up and grabbed his coat. "Right. I've gained us about two hours. MRS. HUDSON," Sherlock yells.

The landlady came up, sticking her head into the kitchen. "What is it, dear?"

"Mrs. Hudson, before you give me your line about not being our house-keeper, this is an emergency, and I would very much appreciate it if you would finish cleaning the kitchen and living room. Molly and I have to go shopping." He spoke quickly, grabbing his coat and scarf as he did.

"Shopping?" Molly asked. "What for?"

He handed her coat to her and gently began to push her towards the door. "You saw the state of the fridge and cabinets, we barely have anything to snack on, let alone cook a big meal with. We have to go to the store. Mrs. Hudson, we'll be back later!" He slammed the door.

Poor Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway of the kitchen and living room, looking around her. They had done a good deal of work, but somehow there was still more to be done. Half-heartedly she muttered that she was a landlady, not a house-keeper, and picked up the rag Sherlock had taken from Molly.

Molly strode through the grocery store with Sherlock a few steps behind her, taking in everything. "Is this what ordinary people do? Just go around, shopping for cereals and vegetables?" he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down. "How boring." His tone was one of fascination.

Molly gave him a look. "Sherlock, please. You can't just go around saying things like that."

"Now you're starting to sound like John," he murmured. Molly shook her head, but smiled all the same.

"You never did tell me what you wanted to cook for him," she said. She was keeping an eye out for anything good, in case Sherlock couldn't think of anything, but she was also grabbing some basic essentials for them. She figured that even if Sherlock didn't eat them, John would appreciate it.

"I'm not sure," he replied.

"Okay… well, what's his favorite food?" When Sherlock didn't respond for a minute, she turned around to see his mouth set in a straight line, but his eyes filled with shame. "You don't know what his favorite food is?" Sherlock didn't answer, instead pretending to take interest in the back of a random box.

This was going to be harder than Molly thought. "Pasta's always good," she said. "Maybe… lasagna! My mother gave me this really good recipe—it's got five different types of cheeses. It'll take a while to make, but I think we might have enough—"

Sherlock cut her off. "Sounds good, then. What will we need?" Leading him through the store, Molly would grab each item, explaining how it fit into the dish. Sherlock nodded along, paying close attention. This was one thing he couldn't afford mess up.

"Sure, I'll just go all the way across town," John muttered in the cab. "No, don't worry about it; it's not as if I have things at home to do. I'll just go run errands for you." Normally he didn't mind picking up this or that for Sherlock—John knew how lazy he was—but usually it was something minor, and close to home. Not _on the complete other side of London._

The cab reached its destination, and it was with reluctance that John forked over the hefty fee. "Sherlock is paying me back," John said to himself firmly. He turned around, not entirely sure where he was and found… a park.

A park. John was at a park. It was a rather nice one, he had to admit, but it was nonetheless a _park. _"What the hell would Mycroft be doing here?" John muttered. He pulled out his cell phone, and dialed the older Holmes's number.

"John, how good to hear from you. I trust everything is okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I'm just here at the… park. Where are you?"

There was a pause. "I'm at my office. Why? And what are you doing at a park?"

John looked around with a puzzled expression. He checked the street address with the one Sherlock had given him. They matched. "Sherlock said that you called and said you had a case for him. He asked me to pick it up, and I'm at the address he gave me, which is apparently the address of a park."

"I haven't spoken to my brother since Saturday. Are you sure you heard him correctly?"

"Yes…" John sighed. "Okay then. Sorry to have bothered you." Mycroft said goodbye, and they hung up. Thoroughly annoyed now, John hailed a cab and once again pressed his phone to his ear.

"Sherlock."

"You gave me the wrong address," John said sharply.

"Ah, hello John. Did you get the case?"

With a roll of his eyes John replied, "Did you not hear me? You gave me the wrong address. It was a park. Mycroft wasn't there; he didn't know anything about a case. He said you two haven't spoken since Saturday." He heard Sherlock mutter a curse, then his voice was back to that odd, cheerful tone he had that morning.

"Oh, did I say Mycroft? I meant Lestrade."

"Lestrade?" John repeated, skeptical.

"Yes, Lestrade."

"Okay, well I didn't see Lestrade at the park either."

"Yes, that's because…" he could hear someone in the background talking, a woman, and Sherlock say something quickly and quietly to her. "Something came up!" he finally answered. "Something else came up at Scotland Yard, and he had to leave. I meant to tell you that earlier. You're to meet him at Scotland Yard."

"Wait, so you mean to tell me that I came all the way over here for nothing?" John asked angrily.

"Yes. I apologize. I have to go now, but make sure you go see Lestrade!" Hanging up his phone, a very annoyed and irritated John gave the new destination to the cab driver.


	2. Chapter 2

Still at the store with Molly, Sherlock snapped his phone shut. "We need to hurry and get back to the flat. John got there faster than I anticipated." He checked his watch. 2:30. Had it only been an hour? He took the buggy from Molly and began pushing it to the front. "By my calculations we have thirty minutes before John reaches Scotland Yard and realizes that Lestrade doesn't really have a case for us. We should be able to get back home and begin cooking. How long will it take you to cook this lasagna?"

Molly jogged beside Sherlock, trying to keep up with him. "Um, about three hours." Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed together. "That's with prep time and everything. Can you keep him away for that long?"

Sherlock let Molly take the cart into the line, and pulled out his phone. "I'll have to." He began to rapidly send a text to Lestrade.

_Don't ask why. I need you to stall John when he gets there. – SH_

A minute later, Molly was still scanning items and Sherlock's phone beeped.

_John? Why is he coming here? – GL_

_I said not to ask why. Not important. Just do it. – SH_

_Alright, whatever you say. What do you want me to tell him? – GL_

Sherlock groaned impatiently. _It doesn't matter. Anything. Just keep him away from Baker St for as long as possible. Text me if leaves. – SH_

_Okay, okay. You got it. – GL_

_Oh, and tell your brother to pick up his phone. I've been trying to call him. - GL_

Sherlock completely dismissed that last text, shuddering at the thought of involving himself in Mycroft and Lestrade's… relationship. He was brought out of that disturbing mental-image by Molly, who was pushing the cart towards Sherlock. "There, everything's paid for. Now we can get home."

"Perfect." The day was far from over, but if things kept going the way they were then Sherlock might—just might—pull this off.

Lestrade sat in his office, confused by Sherlock's text. However, by now, he was almost used to the detective's random orders.

He was just finishing his third message to Mycroft's answering machine when John knocked on his door. "Hey," he greeted him.

"Hey," John replied. He plopped into the chair in front of Lestrade's desk, and Lestrade could tell that he was exhausted. "Sorry I didn't get here sooner. Sherlock had me all the way on the other side of the city," he scoffed. "But, I'm here now. What's the case?"

Lestrade cocked his head in confusion. "What case?"

"The case Sherlock said you had for him… he asked me to come pick it up." It took him a second, but Lestrade finally caught on and nodded his head.

"Oh! Yes! The case! _That_ case! The case I told Sherlock I needed your help on. Yes, I know the case," Lestrade rambled on. John was looking at him curiously, but Lestrade was too busy trying to come up with something. He slowly stood up and went to his door, calling in Sally.

"Yeah?" she said, coming in with a small wave to John.

"Sally, go get Anderson. Let him know that John's here to help him with that thing he needed help on." Lestrade tried to give her a look that said "just play along", but the message didn't go through apparently, because Sally replied with, "It's Anderson's day off."

Lestrade faked a laugh. "No, remember, he came in and said he needed John's help. You remember right?"

Sally was looking at him as if he were crazy. "No he did—"

"Just go call Anderson!" Lestrade snapped sternly. Sally put her hands up in defeat and went back to her desk.

Lestrade looked back at John's unbelieving gaze and laughed nervously. "Donovan. I think she's been working too hard. I should probably give her a vacation." John hummed an agreement, and then turned back around in his seat. With a breath of relief, Lestrade went back to his desk and sat down.

Back at Baker Street, Molly and Sherlock were busy prepping. As they buzzed around the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson stood nearby, just outside of it. "What's all this about, Sherlock? You sure did run off in a hurry."

Without pausing, he answered with, "A dinner, Mrs. Hudson. Molly is helping me prepare a… special dinner. Oh, and thank you, by the way. You did a marvelous job of cleaning. Are you positive you aren't even a little bit of a house-keeper?" He gave her a quick smile, and she laughed, swatting his arm when he passed by.

"Oh, you. Well you two have fun. I think I'll go and visit Mrs. Turner." Then it was just Molly and Sherlock left, getting everything ready. Every couple of second, Sherlock would look at his watch.

Fifteen minutes after John had arrived at Scotland Yard, Anderson showed up. He walked into Lestrade's office, Sally trailing behind him. "Sally just called. Luckily I happened to be close by," he said, completely ignoring John.

It was then that Lestrade realized that maybe using Anderson as his excuse hadn't been the best idea he's ever had. Too late now, though. "Yeah. I just wanted to let you know that John finally arrived. He's here to help you with that… thing that you needed help with."

Anderson stared at Lestrade for a second before replying, "I didn't ask for his help? Why would I want him?" John rolled his eyes. It was no secret that Anderson didn't like him messing with the crime scenes. 'One doctor is plenty,' Anderson would say.

"Yeah you did," Lestrade said quickly. "Remember? You said that, uh, there was a thing that you needed a, um, second opinion on."

"No, there wasn't," Anderson said. "Why would I ask to get a second opinion on something when it's my day off?"

That was it. John had had enough. "Look, Lestrade, I don't know what's going on, but I'm tired, and I want to go back home. Obviously there wasn't anything for me to do here. I'm not sure _why_ Sherlock would say to come here, but I'm leaving now." With a wave to Sally, he left, and Lestrade let out a frustrated groan.

"You two couldn't just play along?" he snapped at Sally and Anderson as he pulled out his phone. '_That wasn't very long at all… Sherlock's not going to be happy.' _

The person in question picked up on the first ring. "He's left, hasn't he?"

"Yeah," Lestrade said, ashamed. "I couldn't get Donovan and Anderson to catch on."

Sherlock scoffed. "You brought Anderson in? It's no wonder John left after only half an hour." Lestrade glanced at Anderson, silently agreeing with Sherlock. "But no matter. I'll think of something else." Lestrade had been hoping for some kind of 'thank you', but he honestly didn't know why he would hope for that. That would be far too out of character for Sherlock. Now, hanging up without a goodbye—that was _very_ much like Sherlock, and exactly what Lestrade got.

With a grumble he closed his phone, and waved Donovan and Anderson out of his office.

Sherlock cursed under his breath. "What is it?" Molly asked. She was in front of the table, putting various items into a big pan.

"Lestrade, once again, failed to do a simple task," Sherlock replied. He was pacing back and forth, his hands clasped under his chin.

"So what now?" Molly said in a panicky tone. "He can't come home now, or everything will be ruined!"

"I know!" he snapped. A few more seconds, and he was yet again pulling out his phone and dialing.

"Hello," a woman's voice answered.

"Yes," Sherlock said politely. "Is this Sarah?"

"Um, yes. May I ask who this is?"

"This is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. You do remember me, correct?" He smiled when he heard her slight gasp of surprise.

"How did you get my number?"

"Oh, all I had to do was look in John's phone once. It doesn't take much to memorize numbers. Now, Sarah, I need a favor from you," he said seriously.

"A favor? From me? What could you need from me?" she asked skeptically.

"I need you to call John and tell him you need him back at the hospital. You must keep him there for _at least_ two hours. Do you understand?"

"W-what? What for?"

"I don't have time to explain everything! Please, Sarah." He hated how desperately he was depending on this woman, absolutely despised it, but it was his only option. "Please do this for me."

There was a long pause. "Okay. Fine. Just call him and get him to come to the hospital?"

Sherlock let out a breath. "Yes. And keep him there for two hours. Thank you."

"I don't know what's going on, but if you of all people are saying "please" and "thank you" then it must be important."

"It is," he confirmed.

"That's good enough for me, I suppose."

"One more thing—call me when he leaves. It's very important I know the second he's gone," he told her carefully. If John got home before he was ready, then the night would be ruined.

"Got it. Goodbye, then." Sherlock closed his phone and smiled at Molly.

"Everything's been taken care of. We've got two hours—that's how long you said it would take to cook, correct?"

Molly nodded. "Yes—OH!" she exclaimed. Sherlock looked around in concern. "Drinks! And a desert! You can't have a proper Valentine's dinner without some sort of desert!" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Is it really necessary?"

Molly looked at him as if he had insulted her. "Of course it's necessary!" She pulled open the oven and continued talking as she placed the pan in there. "Look, see, it's all ready to cook. All we have to do is turn on the oven and let it cook. So, we can go out and get what we forgot, and everything will be okay!"

Sherlock looked from her to the oven, not entirely convinced. Molly's impatient glare mad him relent, though. "Fine. Quickly set it then, and come one. I'll call a cab." He sprinted down the stairs, and Molly went to set the oven.

"MOLLY!" She sighed, then scuttled down the stairs after him. Unbeknownst to her, however, she had forgotten to press one incredibly important button.

The "on" button.


	3. Chapter 3

John leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, closing his eyes. Running all over London, and he hadn't even eaten lunch. God, he was tired. All he wanted to do was get back to the flat and take a nice, long, hot shower and—

RING.

John sat up with a jolt. Rubbing his eyes, he answered his vibrating phone with a tired, "Hello?"

"Hey, John. It's Sarah."

"Sarah?" John asked.

"Yeah. Look, I'm really sorry to do this, but is there any way you could come to the hospital?"

"Again? I was just there this morning!" John groaned internally.

"Y-yes, I know. But I really need you to come in. I wouldn't call you in if I didn't absolutely need you. Please, John?" He sighed. He by no means still had feelings for Sarah, but there's no way he could tell her no. Dammit.

"Alright then. I'll be there as quickly as possible," he finally answered.

"Thank you, John. See you when you get here. Bye."

"Yeah. Bye," he muttered. So much for his shower.

"Are you positive we have everything? We're not taking another trip," Sherlock chided Molly.

"Yes, I'm positive," Molly laughed. They were back at the flat, and hour after they had left. She set their bags on the table and started to put them away. "Could you check the lasagna?"

Sherlock walked over to it and, kneeling down, opened the oven carefully. He expected to be met with a wave of heat, but instead got nothing. He peered into it and found that it looked exactly as it did when Molly had first put it in. He took a sharp breath and slammed the door shut, causing Molly to jump.

"_Molly Hooper, you complete and utter—" _Sherlock cut himself off. He ran his hands through his hair and clenched his eyes closed. When he spoke, it was eerily calm, and it sent shivers up Molly's spine—not in a good way. "You didn't press the power button. Before you left, you didn't press the_ bloody on button!_" Molly gasped and looked into the oven. She placed her hands over her mouth and immediately started apologizing profusely. "Just shut up!" he yelled. She did, tears welling up. He ran a hand through his hair, then started to pace. "Do you know where Angelo's is?"

"U-um, I t-think I m-might," she stuttered out.

"No, I don't need 'I think', I need "I know"!" Sherlock said harshly. He quickly scribbled an address onto a scrap of paper. "Here," he thrust the paper to Molly, "it's a five minute walk from here, three if you _run_. When you get there, ask for Angelo. Tell him you're there for my usual order. If there are any problems call me. Do you understand?" He said it all in rapid fire, and it was all Molly could do to just nod along. "What are you standing here for, then? Go!"

"R-right," she mumbled as she hurried out the door. Sherlock ran another hand through his hair. This was _not_ what was supposed to happen. He had to think, and think fast. The kitchen was still cleaned up, so if he just disposed of the uncooked lasagna, they could still eat in there.

A few minutes later he checked his phone. No attempted calls from Molly, nor a text. Sherlock assumed this meant that Angelo hadn't given her any trouble. But when his phone did ring, he found that it was Sarah's name that popped up on the caller ID. "John's left, hasn't he." He said it as a statement rather than a question, feeling his stress go up another level.

She sighed. "Yes. I'm sorry I couldn't keep him here longer. Look, I'm not sure what you're doing, but I hope it's not some sort of elaborate prank, or something, because he was incredibly angry when he left."

The corners of Sherlock's mouth quirked up in a small smile. "Well, I don't think I'll have much of a problem with him. Thank you for your help, Sarah."

"Oh. Well. You're welcome, Sherlock," she said, very clearly surprised. He hung up and ran a hand through his hair. It would take John ten minutes at the most to get home, Molly had yet to return, and—No! He couldn't think about that! He had to focus on one thing at a time. There was one more thing, Sherlock thought as he twirled around the room, letting his eyes graze over everything. One last thing Molly had mentioned… candles! Now he remembered; he had tried to talk her out of them, saying that it was ridiculous and clichéd, but she had insisted.

Five minutes later, when Molly returned, Sherlock was still bent over the wax sticks with a lighter in his hand. "Put the food on the table," he snapped. "Hurry up!" Molly jumped and did as he said as quickly as she could. She was trying to make up for her blunder earlier. "There, now grab the other lighter and help me finish lighting these candles. And watch out for the experiments. Some are flammable."

She just nodded silently and started on the other end of the long line of candles, glancing at Sherlock every so often. She was surprised at how concentrated he looked; the only time she saw that level of focus in his eyes was when he was at the lab. Sherlock could feel her eyes on him, and he turned around with an irritated sigh, a sharp retort ready, when his eyes widened and he practically tackled her onto the floor. "No, not there!"

John stood outside of the flat, fumbling with his keys in the brisk cold and muttering obscenities at Sherlock. On his third attempt, he managed to fit the key into the lock, and upon closing the door behind him, he could hear shouting upstairs. He couldn't make out the words, but it was clearly not a happy conversation. He started up the stairs and realized he could smell smoke as well.

All anger forgotten, he took the stairs two at a time, his only thought being, '_Sherlock must have finally set the kitchen on fire. God, I hope he remembered where the fire extinguisher is.'_ When he flung open the door, he was shocked to find Molly near the entrance to the kitchen, sobbing into her hands, and Sherlock standing in front of the stove with the fire extinguisher. "Are you always this inept, or were you making a special effort today?" he snapped at Molly.

John took a step into the kitchen and yelled, "What the _hell _is going on here!" Sherlock whirled around and John could swear he saw Sherlock's cheeks flush just a little bit. "Are those candles everywhere? What the hell have you done to Molly?" He walked over to her, giving her a comforting hug. She clung onto him, mumbling apologies and sniffing as she attempted to calm down.

Sherlock awkwardly placed the fire extinguisher on the table and cleared his throat. "It's a rather long story," he replied quietly.

John gave him a _look_ (which rarely boded well for Sherlock) and led Molly down the stairs. Sherlock could hear him ask, "Are you sure you're okay?" though he failed to catch Molly's reply. It was apparently a 'yes', as a moment later John reappeared in the living room. He took one look around, closed his eyes tightly for a second, and asked in a dangerously calm voice, "Care to explain to me what happened?"

Sherlock tried to look as composed as a man could when his clothes were disheveled and had bits of foam on them as he stood in front of a now-smoking stove. "I required Molly's assistance with something today, and due to her clumsiness and apparently forgetful nature, things went… awry," he explained carefully.

John scoffed. "I think that's an understatement. But that still doesn't answer my question. _What happened?_" Sherlock winced. The last thing he wanted to do right now was try to explain all of this to John. The moment was ruined—the whole _day_ was ruined. Sherlock was embarrassed and humiliated, and just wanted to go into his room and stay there for a few days. John called his name sharply and Sherlock sighed. Perhaps if he just talked quickly John wouldn't be able to follow, and would forget about this.

"Since today is Valentine's Day, which I've come to understand it is associated with love, I thought it would be the most ideal day to reveal my feelings to you. However, due to my lack of experience in this field, I was forced to go to Molly for assistance, she being the hopeless romantic she is." John's eyes went slightly wider and he stopped paying attention. He was vaguely aware that his mouth had fallen open in surprise, and he just watched as Sherlock's brows furrowed closer and closer, and his movements became more frantic as he explained the events of the day. All he could think about was the fact that Sherlock, A- acknowledged that today was Valentine's Day and B-had feelings for John.

The latter was harder to believe. John couldn't quite wrap his head around it, Sherlock's previous statements of 'not my area' and 'married to my work' running through his mind. Although… now that he thought about it, Sherlock had been acting slightly different as of late. Not insulting John as much (at least in public), not shooting the walls anymore, actually eating when John told him to… Alright, so the more John thought about it, the more sense it made. His heart sped up a little when he realized what that could mean for _them_.

He was snapped out of his romantic daydreams by Sherlock clearing his throat. He was avoiding eye contact with John and tried to go around him towards his room. "Hang on," John said quickly, grabbing his wrist. Sherlock tugged weakly against his hand.

"There's no need to explain anything, I understand." The corner of John's mouth flashed in a brief smile.

"No, Sherlock, I don't think you do." Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave John that look that said 'I'm a genius, of course I understand.'

"John, please, save me the speech," Sherlock sighed heavily. "Clearly I made a few rather large miscalculations, the biggest of which being that you would actually return my affections. I've made a mess of the entire day and I would rather appreciate it if you would let me go and allow me to—" John had heard enough. He grabbed the front of Sherlock's shirt and pulled him down for a firm kiss, leaning up on the balls of his feet to meet him halfway. Sherlock didn't respond, just froze in shock. The rarity of catching Sherlock off guard was enough to make John chuckle into the kiss, and pull back with a small smirk. Sherlock simply stared at him with a half-puzzled, half-intrigued look.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" A smile broke through Sherlock's face and he shook his head, bringing his arms around John's waist.

"You never cease to amaze me," he murmured quietly. Gently, pressed his lips to John's forehead. John tilted his head back for another, proper, kiss.

"Maybe next year you can try to _not_ burn the flat down?" John teased when they broke apart.

Sherlock shook his head with a smirk. "No promises."

"Of course not," John muttered. He pulled away and walked to the table, looking through the food Molly had brought. "By the way, you're cleaning up everything tomorrow. By yourself." That earned him a childish whine, to which he laughed. "Oh, and Sherlock? Happy Valentine's Day."


	4. Epilogue

Molly stifled a yawn as she went around the morgue. She was still worn out from yesterday's misadventure, and more than a little upset still. She couldn't even pluck up the nerve to go tell Sherlock good morning like she normally did. She was sure he wouldn't want to talk, let alone see her for a while. Which is why she was surprised when both he and John walked in. She noticed the way Sherlock glanced at John with a slight roll of his eyes, and the sharp look he gave in return. He pushed the detective forward a bit, and Sherlock cleared his throat as Molly looked at him curiously.

"Molly," he started, smiling at her politely. "I've come to… apologize. My behavior towards you yesterday was less than acceptable, considering that you were only attempting to help." He looked over at John for approval and the doctor made a little 'keep going' motion with his hand. Sherlock huffed quietly, and Molly couldn't help but smile a bit.

"No, it's okay, Sherlock," she shook her head. "I forgive you."

"See, she forgives me," Sherlock gloated to John. He obviously felt very pleased with himself. "Can we go now?"

John rolled his eyes and nodded. "Yes, alright, fine." Sherlock walked swiftly over to the door, and John just chuckled a little. "Seriously Molly, I'm sorry for any trouble he gave you yesterday. We both really appreciate your help."

Molly blushed. "It was no trouble. I'm glad I could help." John gave her a quick hug before going over to Sherlock. Just before the doors closed, Molly noticed the two of them join hands.


End file.
